England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Love stories; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
"I drew the veil over her face. She rested a while in silence. Suddenly
the sound of her laboring respiration ceased. She started, and raised
her head from my shoulder.
"'Are you in pain?' I asked.
"'I am in heaven!' she answered.
"Her head dropped back on my breast as she spoke. In that last outburst
of joy her last breath had passed. The moment of her supreme happiness
and the moment of her death were one. The mercy of God had found her at
last.
"I return to my letter before the post goes out.
"I have taken the necessary measures for the performance of my promise.
She will be buried with the portrait hidden in her bosom, and with the
black veil over her face. No nobler creature ever breathed the breath of
life. Tell the stranger who sent her his portrait that her last moments
were joyful moments, through his remembrance of her as expressed by his
gift.
"I observe a passage in your letter to which I have not yet replied. You
ask me if there was any more serious reason for the persistent hiding of
her face under the veil than the reason which she was accustomed to give
to the persons about her. It is true that she suffered under a morbid
sensitiveness to the action of light. It is also true that this was not
the only result, or the worst result, of the malady that afflicted her.
She had another reason for keeping her face hidden--a reason known
to two persons only: to the doctor who lives in the village near her
father's house, and to myself. We are both pledged never to divulge
to any living creature what our eyes alone have seen. We have kept our
terrible secret even from her father; and we shall carry it with us
to our graves. I have no more to say on this melancholy subject to the
person in whose interest you write. When he thinks of her now, let him
think of the beauty which no bodily affliction can profane--the beauty
of the freed spirit, eternally happy in its union with the angels of
God.
"I may add, before I close my letter, that the poor old father will
not be left in cheerless solitude at the lake house. He will pass the
remainder of his days under my roof, with my good wife to take care of
him, and my children to remind him of the brighter side of life."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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